


What Comes After The Dust Has Settled

by Tyaasei



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Ligur (Good Omens), Angels are Dicks, Angst, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Hastur is a good husband, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Maggot Husbands (Good Omens), Post-Canon, Whump, excessive use of ellipses, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-19 14:14:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20317651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyaasei/pseuds/Tyaasei
Summary: When everything that should have happened didn't, and when everything that shouldn't have happened did, the forces of Heaven and Hell are left reeling. But most of them had something worth going back to. The same can't be said for Hastur. His entire life's gone up in smoke. What's the point of sticking around Hell when all that's left are reminders of a demon who's never going to come home?





	What Comes After The Dust Has Settled

It had been a year since the apocalypse didn’t happen. After the failed extinction of the traitors, both Heaven and Hell had done their best to go back to how things were before the End. The world kept spinning, there was still work to be done. Nowadays, Hell was much quieter than it should have been. Tension gripped the air like an iron fist, and it kept the riotous voices of ten million demons subdued, most of them still finding the will to get back into the lives they’d planned on abandoning after the War started.

  
Six thousand years, wasted. All of that work had been for nothing, yet they were expected to just keep moving. A situation like that sucked every ounce of purpose from them all.

  
In other words, morale was at a record low.

  
But Hastur didn’t feel that. In comparison to losing his mate and the only demon he could’ve considered trusting, the torment of going back to work after what wasn’t the End was infinitesimal. Having Ligur there to pick up the pieces with would have made post-Armageddon palatable. All he wanted was to go curl up in their den, damp and dark enough for both of their liking, and huddle up until most of the unbidden chaos had passed. But going back now, he was only greeted by a home void of its soul matching the emptiness in his chest. Going back to his own desk was hardly better, with the eternal leak above it and with Ligur’s vacant desk to its right. Some new demon had taken Ligur’s place, who could never have hoped to fill it. That didn’t last for long. After leeching the life out of the other demon, Hastur left. Not just his office, he left Hell altogether. There was no reason to stick around for Dagon to chastise him or for yet another demon to replace the disintegrated one.

  
He hadn’t returned since.

  
It had been a year since the apocalypse didn’t happen. In that time, Hastur, Duke of Hell, had spent his days wandering the planet, going wherever his feet took him. Lurking was off the table. All that did was make the gap in his chest where a heart should have been ache. No, he instead he took part in what the humans called ‘people watching’. Technically, that also could have been considered lurking, but the different name let Hastur go about his business without being swamped with grief and guilt. Those things weren’t supposed to be felt by demons, but then again, most demons cared for nothing and no one other than themselves.

  
Wherever he ended up, Hastur always found a park bench or a nice perch and he would sit there until he got bored. He’d smoke and listen in on conversations, watch as humans went about their lives like everything was fine and nothing had happened. They hadn’t lost anything what with that bastard of an Anti-Christ putting everything back to the way it was.

  
Except Ligur.

  
He couldn’t remember when he’d last experienced envy. Humans milled around him, never sparing a glance at him, and he watched them embrace one another, scream at each other, and cry with each other. So what if a human they cared about died? They’d only known that person for about fifty years at most. Meanwhile, Hastur was forced to trudge through the rest of eternity without the demon who’d been by his side from the start. What was a measly handful of decades in comparison to over six thousand years?

  
Stewing in his own thoughts got him nowhere, and he’d made a point to move whenever he caught himself sinking too deep into his own head. London, Paris, Moscow, Seoul, Nairobi, Brasilia, Washington, and now back to England again, he never stayed anywhere for long.

  
On most days, he felt like he didn’t exist at all. Moving like a ghost through crowds of people. His lips chapped and mouth dried from not speaking to anyone but himself for months on end. Even on the better days, he couldn’t the motivation to make a human fall to temptation. It was like no one knew he existed. He hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Hell trying to contact him. He was alone, and Hastur had a feeling that he’d prefer for that to continue until everything truly came to an end.

  
In the absence of purpose, he was beginning to forget the sound of his own name.

  
It had been a year since the apocalypse didn’t happen. The anniversary of Ligur’s death was ushered in by a fierce storm. Thunder boomed through the sky, and the windows of buildings rattled in their frames. Lightning flashed in the distance, striking more than one tree and knocking out an entire town’s worth of power. But Hastur wouldn’t know that.

  
He remained as he had been the week before, and the week before that, slumped up against a dead tree next to a bog. Time passed easily without him noticing at all, and when the veritable tempest poured down on him, Hastur did little more than shiver as his eyes stared out into the murk. Like most rainy days, it seemed to last far longer than normal days did, as if God herself sought out to prolong his misery. All things must come to an end however, and day turned to dusk, turned to dark.

  
The rain didn’t stop.

  
But Hastur didn’t move, slouching as his eyes slipped closed to listen to the frogs croak in the swamp, the single source of solace he had on such a dreadful night.

  
When a lightning strike came down not four meters away, Hastur didn’t flinch. It had been one of dozens, and the only one worth mentioning was the strike that set his tree on fire. Then the tree thought better of it, not wanting to disturb the mourning demon’s brooding, and the fire died under Hastur’s will in an instant. The only problem with this latest bolt of lightning was that the smell of ozone lingered, and no clap of thunder had followed. Squelching footsteps through mud seemed to ring out above the sheets of pelting rain.

  
That could only mean one thing.

  
Hastur jerked out of his reverie, pushing himself away from his tree, and preparing himself for a fight. What the Hell was an angel doing next to a swamp, in the middle of the night, near him of all demons? Surely, he thought to himself, Hell would have contacted him somehow if the war with Heaven had begun?

  
A white figure made its way forward. Living in the blackness of the Pit gave demons the ability to see well in the dark, but that had its limits. He knew that whatever angel had come for him wasn’t armed, and they didn’t look like any angel he’d run into. Well, not recently at least. Their steps were slow and deliberate, coming straight for him. But he waited. Angels don’t go stomping around in the swamp in their pristine white clothes, much less in the rain, for a demon that hadn’t interacted with Hell in months. What did he have or do that made the agent of Heaven seek him out on a clichéd dark and stormy night?

  
“’Ey, Wank-wings,” Hastur called, “Ain’t you got better things to do than play in the puddles?”

  
The figure stopped, but Hastur still couldn’t quite make out their face. Clouds above parted for a second, briefly illuminating their face, revealing dark hair and dark skin, the rest remaining a blur. He knew that the angel had heard him over the pouring rain. Why weren’t they saying anything?

  
“I said,” he growled in irritation, “’Ey, Wank-wings! ‘Ain’t you got better things to do?”

  
Silence. Hastur wasn’t sure why, but the angel was hesitating. Waiting, maybe? Whatever, it was interesting, and he wanted to resume sulking in the mud undisturbed.

  
“Look. I got places to be,” he didn’t, “An’ I got better things to do than shout at some stuck-up chicken in a robe,” again, he really didn’t, “Whaddya want?!”

  
Again, silence. Huffing, he’d just about had enough of whatever stupid game the other was playing. If that holier-than-thou bastard would get lost, he could get back to his moping, but no. ‘One more time,’ Hastur told himself, ‘then I’ll go for blood.’

  
“Last chance, ang- “

  
“Hastur,” at last, the angel spoke, “Stop.”

  
Hastur froze, choked, and damn near swallowed his tongue. First off, of course it had to be raining when something like this happened. Second, he’d know that voice anywhere. It was the same voice that had greeted him every day, had hushed him while his panic got the better of him, and had asked him to pass the cigarette that Hastur had dangling from his lips.

  
Oh, this was low, even for a demon’s standards. The forces of Heaven had tracked him down to taunt him and nothing else. Well, wasn’t that nice?

  
“I dunno what you’re trying to accomplish tonight, angel,” he said, “But, I do I know what you’re trying to do to me. Piss off, ‘m not that stupid.”

  
With a huff of annoyance that trailed off into a snarl, the angel hiked up his robed and started slopping through the mud again, faster now. The rain began to taper down, and Hastur stood his ground, frame undaunted and his eyes fixed on the frustrated angel.

  
“Never said or thought you were stupid, Hastur,” the angels voice was cut over by the gross squishing noises, “An’ I ain’t doing nothin’ other than trying to see you again, arsewipe!”

  
At last, the angel came into full view. Frowning and covered from the calves down in muck, was his beloved back from the dead, sans the chameleon he’d always worn. Hastur’s jaw went lax, staring on in disbelief. That had to be Ligur, no angel would ever use that kind of slur. But then what was the deal with the robes? And his missing familiar? And most importantly, where had he been? What could have happened that would keep Ligur away from him for a year? He made to ask, to try and joke to brighten the irritated angel’s mood. Uh, demon? Shit, no. Lover? Too brash. Who knew if the other would remember that integral aspect of their relationship? Old friend? There we go! But before he could stop it, his thoughts collapsed in at the last second and the question he really wanted to ask slipped out instead.

  
“How? You were gone,” Hastur’s lip started quivering before he had half a mind to stop it, “You melted right in front of me. You were screaming, and I was screaming, and everything started falling apart, and you were dead! Not discorporated, dead! Extinct! Annihilated! Murdered by that damned trait- “

  
Before he could react, Ligur stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Hastur, squeezing him tight, just on this side of painful. Hastur halted tirade with a choking sound, and the demon couldn’t hold everything back anymore. For the first time in what seemed to be ages, Hastur held his love back, and sobbed.

  
“I know,” Ligur muttered, streaking his too-clean hand through Hastur’s matted, greasy mop of hair, cupping his nape, “I know, but I’m back now. It’s over. I’m sorry I left. I'm sorry I was gone for so long. I’m sorry I couldn’t find you sooner.”

  
The angel began his own slew of words, and Hastur was half tempted to throw Ligur off of him, to get angry and throw a fit after being consumed by sorrow for a year. The other half, the part of him that had dreamt about this kind of reunion the one time he passed out on a park bench, wanted this point in time to last forever. There hadn’t been mud, rain, frogs, and his very demon husband transformed into an angel in the dream though, that would have been weird and oddly prophetic.

  
Hastur’s softer side, his second half, won out. The only being he gave two shits about had risen from the dead like Jesus fucking Christ himself. Who gave a damn if they’d both collapsed on their knees and sunk into the soft ground? They held onto each other for dear life, like the other was the only think keeping them from falling apart. Inky black seeped from Hastur’s eyes and into the soaked fabric on Ligur’s shoulder as his grief purged itself from his body.

  
All the while, Ligur had been talking as Hastur had his minor breakdown, and with the way his voice was cracking, Ligur was near ready to shatter too.

  
“-And when I finally got out, they wouldn’t let me back into Hell. Wouldn’t have mattered anyway because they had no clue where you went either. I’ve been looking for months, and here you are, wasting away-”

  
His voice gave out then, and whatever hiccups the two gave while weeping were swept away by the dying storm.

  
The sun was creeping over the horizon by the time they parted, Hastur’s coat spattered with glittering silver while Ligur looked like he’d fallen into a tarpit sideways. They had to hand onto each other as they wrenched themselves out of the swamp’s ground, both of them having sunken up to their thighs. An unspoken agreement was made that they should leave and find somewhere to dry off. And talk. They needed to have a long talk. After all, a mire was hardly a place for a serious conversation, even by demon standards.

  
The closest town was quiet when they arrived, not a soul in sight. They found the one inn, and Hastur nicked keys to a room before they finally settled down. Once the door was closed, Hastur collapsed into the beat-up armchair, then watched in surprise when the angel flopped forwards with a groan onto the bed with mostly clean sheets. Filth from his robe stained the fabric instantly, and something in Hastur twitched even though Ligur looked content sprawled out as he was.

  
“’Ain’t you uncomfortable?”

  
“What,” Ligur cracked an eye open and stared at him, “With the mud?”

  
“Well, that an’ the messing up the sheets, an’ me stealing keys for the room. You know since you’re a...” Hastur gestured at the angel.

  
“I’ll be honest, it does…” Ligur answered slowly, “But not too much. I’m still me, you know that, right? Just because they stuck me in this awful getup and messed up the way I think doesn’t mean that I’m not me anymore.”

  
Ligur’s tone was defensive and Hastur slipped into another un-demon-like emotion: Regret. Whatever, he needed to focus on being a husband rather than a demon right now. He hadn’t meant to upset Ligur, especially now when they were just stitching themselves back together again. After just getting him back, Hastur couldn’t afford to lose him. Not now. Not ever again until the Almighty herself ceased to exist.

  
“’m sorry. It’s just,” Hastur’s eyes flicked around the room for a moment, looking for an answer hidden in the room somewhere, anywhere but at Ligur, “I feel like this is some weird hallucination. Like I’ve fallen asleep again, and I’m gonna wake up any time now out in the mud and the rain, alone.”

  
He could feel Ligur’s eyes boring into him.

  
“Course you’re still you. You’re the only bastard who I’d let get away with callin’ me an arsewipe,” he grinned briefly, the smile gone as quick as it came, “I thought you were gone forever, you know? Part a me felt like I died with you, and I wished I really had. ‘rest a Hell went back to work, but I…” he trailed off, his voice dying out.

  
“I missed you too,” Ligur said, “For a while there, I thought that I’d never get away from those angels. Thought they’d keep me there ‘til they broke me.”

  
Hastur’s eyes shot open wide and he jolted up. The fear that had been nibbling at the back of his mind shot to the forefront.

  
“Broke you?” Hastur screeched, “What happened? What did they do to you?”

  
Ligur clammed up, his teeth clenching, eyes going foggy and distant. A memory was dragged up from its watery grave, rotten, ugly, and stinking, only to be shoved back under the surface. He swallowed and shook his head.

  
“A lot,” he muttered, “Don’t wanna talk about it. You don’t wanna know.”

  
“Don’t wanna know? If I didn’t wanna know, I wouldn’t have asked!”

  
“Hastur, please,” Ligur put his hand out, trying to placate his love, “What happened in Heaven is over. There ‘ill be time for payback, later.”

  
He tried to move forward to embrace Hastur again, only to gasp and keel over onto the floor. Panicking, Hastur slipped from his chair and went to place a hand on Ligur’s back, words of concern and comfort nearly leaving his mouth before he snatched his hand back. There was a faint twinkle of gold shining through the damp white of Ligur’s clothes.

  
“Ligur, ’m taking the robe off.”

  
“Wait, hang on- “

  
The filthy cloth vanished from the angel’s body revealing a mess of lacerations and burns, so many of them that they formed one large wound, so big that you couldn’t tell where one cut began, and another ended. It was all scabbed over, but pieces of the gold were flicking off to reveal green puss festering underneath.

  
Neither angels nor demons ever got sick, and when they did, it was serious. An infection should have been fought off easily or miracle it away.

  
Gently, Hastur took the angel’s hands into his, squeezing them tight as he tried to reign his emotions in.

  
“You’ve been looking for me in this condition? For how long?!”

  
“Hastur- “

  
“Don’t you 'Hastur' me! You look…” he stopped, his voice turning into croaking, “Awful. And not in the nice handsome awful you normally look.”

  
It was true, though it pained them both to acknowledge it.

  
Before, when he’d been out in the rain, he didn’t really pay attention to Ligur’s appearance after realizing who he was. Hastur had been too focused on simply having his husband back in his arms alive. Now, he could see the dark bags under Ligur’s eyes looked sicklier, nothing like what they had been. While the angel’s hands were clean, they shook in Hastur’s grip, even after he ran his thumb over Ligur’s knuckles. At a second glance, he spotted more of the flaking gold of angel’s blood dug underneath his fingernails.

  
Under the pungent odor of earth and rain water, Ligur didn’t smell right for either an angel or a demon. It wasn’t rot or ozone, must nor whatever flowery shit that Heaven smelled like. It wasn’t the smell that Hastur knew like the back of his hand. He couldn’t put a name to it but paired with how Ligur kept his gaze to the stained carpet and how hard the angel was trying to put on a brave face, it made Hastur want to curl up and die. The person before him was beaten up and more vulnerable than he’d ever seen them. It wasn’t right…

  
The room fell silent, and the angel slumped forward, making a point to bury his face in Hastur’s jacket.

  
“I know I look like shit,” came Ligur’s muffled reply, “’Didn’t want you to see me like this, but I just got too caught up in finding you again…”

  
“Ligur,” he said, “You’re hurt and ill, and you were looking for me for Satan knows how long now.”

  
“Only about a month-”

  
“So those fine feathered fuckers tortured you for the other eleven, eh?!”

  
For a moment, Hastur almost let his temper get the best of him. His veins burned and his blood boiled with want to slaughter the ones responsible for Ligur’s suffering, whatever they’d done to him. Once justice was served, they could go back home, to their nest, with the looming specter of Heaven averted from them so they could live in relative peace. Ligur gripped Hastur’s arm, and looked up, pleading with his eyes, and hastily pulled together plans of total annihilation and pain dissolved.

  
“Not quite, but I told you, I don’t want to talk about it here or now,” Ligur growled through gritted teeth, “I want to clean up, rest with my husband, then go home, somehow… Hastur, I just want to go back home, but they won’t even let me back in…”

  
Hastur watched his husband, eyebrows pinched together as he gave a solemn nod. His main priority was Ligur right now. He was hurt, he needed to heal, and they’d have to see if they could rid Ligur of his newfound divinity. If fate would be the smallest bit kind to them, Ligur wouldn’t have to fully Fall again, it would be too much for him to take in his state. Carefully, Hastur caught the angel’s chin and moved him up, pressing their foreheads together, both of them closing their eyes.

“We can fix this, promise,” Hastur said, “And even if you can’t go back, I won’t either. ‘s not the same without you. ‘s not home... ‘missed you…”

  
“I missed you more, you absolute git.” Ligur huffed out with fondness.

  
“Not possible,” Hastur drew away from the angel, “Now then, let’s get you cleaned up some, get some of the mud and the stink of Heaven off you.”

  
“’m tired of being not-dirty.”

  
“Well,” Hastur stood to his full height and tucked his arms around Ligur’s waist. “We can get a fresh coating of filth on you in celebration once you’re a bit better but being caked in swamp muck isn’t doing anyone any favors.”

  
With that, Hastur pulled his husband up with a grunt, wincing when Ligur let out a hiss of pain. Doing his best to avoid pressing onto his back, the demon waddled them both to the small ensuite bathroom, and maneuvered Ligur into the damn near microscopic tub. He stepped back and looked around for a cloth and soap. As much as he’d rather not use it, Ligur usually smelled absolutely fantastic as he was, covered in guts and gunk, but desperate times…

  
“Hastur, love,” Ligur said, “Maybe it’d be best if we get you taken care of first, you're not doing we- “

  
“Shut it!” Hastur snapped, “You’ve taken care of me Satan knows how many times when I’ve fared far better than you are now. I’m not letting you brush off wounds from holy instruments to tend to my shot nerves. ‘m not that selfish. Just let me look after you for a change… please.”

  
Ligur couldn’t really argue with that, and he settled down quietly, watching Hastur draw his bathwater. He didn’t make a peep when he had warm water dumped over his head, and he only groaned when Hastur tried and failed to wash away the gathering puss on his back without pain. Water in the tib clouded over in minutes, and it was drained before the tub was refilled again.

  
Rinse and repeat until Hastur was satisfied with his work.

  
“You know,” Ligur said when they were back into the bedroom, “’kinda feel like you’re treating me like a fledgling now, not even letting me dry ‘yself.”

  
The demon didn’t respond, too focused on dabbing away the dampness on his back.

  
“We’ll get this cleaned up better later. For now, we’ll just let it air out,” Hastur tossed aside the towel and tugged the bedsheets back, “We’ll sleep, Satan knows both of us could use it.”

  
Ligur didn’t argue when Hastur nudged him down onto his stomach, knowing that his mate only had the best on intentions, although he was rather insufferable when he got into one of his moods like this. He couldn’t blame the demon though. If Ligur had been the one to be left to languish in his grief then had Hastur drop into his lap after being gone so long in this condition, he’d’ ve been a right state himself.

  
“And don’t you think that we won’t be talking about what happened to you upstairs,” Ligur winced, “You still need to tell me what they put you through, but that can wait for now.”

  
After kicking off his boots, vanishing his filthy clothes, and miracling away the muck on his body, Hastur crawled under the itchy quilt and curled up close to the other. They pulled each other close and did their best to settle down.

  
As they drifted off, the rain outside started again, now only soft tapping against the window panes and a deep rumble of thunder in the distance. Things would be more difficult from here on out, but that would wait until tomorrow, or the next day, or the next. For now, the mated pair clung to each other and slept.

  
The troubles of facing what had come after the world hadn’t ended would be easier now that they weren’t alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Hastur and Ligur are like salt and pepper shakers. They should never be separated for long, and it's weird when there's only one but not the other. Yeah, this was angsty, but the Devil must be paid his due somehow.
> 
> I'm not quite sure how this came about since I wrote most of it at 2am and exhausted. Hope you enjoyed, though! ♥


End file.
